


Pudding and Die

by CandyassGoth



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail Hobbs Lives, Abigail is a Cannibal, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, Hannibal is Hannibal, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Hannibal is also a dick, Hannibal to the Rescue, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Post-murder sex, Righteous Violence, Sassy Will Graham, Stabbing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Violence, Will is a Cannibal, Will still has inhibitions, or Dark-ish rather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6935293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyassGoth/pseuds/CandyassGoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will did not, even after a year together, share Hannibal’s exuberant desire for death and destruction, but he did enjoy it when it came around. It just required the proper <em>circumstances</em>. Along with needing to stock their fridge, Hannibal desires to have Will be more assertive in their next kill, and suggests an idea that will draw out the beautiful dark design in Will.</p><p>OR</p><p>Hannibal suggests they set Abigail up as rape bait so Will can stop being a righteous murder prude and use the opportunity to violently kill the offenders—and get Hannibal’s rocks off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pudding and Die

**Author's Note:**

> I finally watched NBCs Hannibal. I fell in love. ~~Like fallin in love with Kingsman wasn’t e-fuckin-nough ryt now~~ VIVA Hannigram and Murder family. Poor fucking Will Graham. Poor fucking Abigail Hobbs. Hannibal is such a dick. Oh god it’s all so good. 
> 
> Proceed with caution, read the tags, and let me know if I need to add anything. Although, I don’t think anyone squeamish or sensitive would be lurking this fandom in any case. However, if you are, you are horribly lost and I recommend flinging your computer out of your room into the hallway and planking yourself out the window. 
> 
> Also there is no actual pudding in this fic. But die, yes.
> 
>  _manipulation murder mansex murderhusbands_ , Let’s sing it together now~
> 
>  
> 
> _I apologise for errors_

** Pudding and Die **

 

“So, I have a suggestion.”

Will sighed into first gulp of life-giving coffee, slouching with Abigail at their black granite kitchen counter, groggily watching Hannibal dish up their breakfast.

“It’s fine, Hannibal. Ding and Dong will adapt to sleeping in the—”

“Not about that.” Hannibal cut in, a hint of a smile passing as Abigail giggled off to the side. Will had named the dogs as such just to annoy Hannibal, but Hannibal let him have the small victories. Will’s happiness was paramount in Hannibal’s life, so Hannibal said.

Will was going to affectionately call the next stray _Bullshit_.

“Oh. What for then?”

“Our next hunt.”

Will sighed again, but shrugged and nodded, and leaning forward on his elbows. “Okay, _who_?”

“Undecided. I was thinking that Abigail could help us pick one out this time.”

Will and Abigail looked at each other. 

“Is that necessary?” Will asked.

“For this idea, yes. I said _pick_ , Will.”

“It’s still participation.”

“It’s only—”

“No, we talked about this already. We agreed Abigail wouldn’t get her hands dirty. She—”

“Unless it’s self defence.”

“Yes, unless it’s self defence, which doesn’t exactly apply here.”

“If she has to defend herself, then she will.”

Will shrugged. It was too early for mind games. “Then I don’t follow.”

“I was actually thinking about going fishing, rather than hunting. In the right area Abigail would make fine bait for the more prurient fish. It will be only their fault, and you can enjoy a guilt free catch.”

“What’s prurient?” Abigail asked.

“We did move here because it has a ridiculous crime rate, after all. Sexual offences most predominantly, and we’ve yet to use that to our advantage—”

Will rubbed his eyes. “ _I_ moved here for that coffee shop over on Main, but—wait, what? Are you _mad_? _God_ —!”

“Now, now, Will. Not at breakfast.” Hannibal passed their plates over— scrambled eggs, _home-made_ sausage, a bean salad and toast. Abigail took hers with a tight-lipped glance at Will. Will ignored his plate to shoot a crinkled glare at Hannibal. Hannibal set the plate down in front of him anyway.

“How about not _that_ at breakfast?”

“It will be perfectly fine. We’ll be right there.”

“It’s dangerous. Not to mention wrong—”

“We’ll arm Abigail. Abigail, have you forgotten how to handle a knife?”

Abigail looked between them, sucking her lips back as she shook her head. 

Hannibal smiled, and served her an extra helping of eggs.

“I have the highest confidence in the both of you.”

“Lord...”

 

**XxXxXxXxXxXM**

 

“It’s cold.”

Will shot Hannibal a look as he roped a scarf around Abigail’s neck—one of the few parts of her covered tonight. “Yes. It is, isn’t it.” 

It really was. Cold and dark. Two days later and Hannibal drove them out for their planned rendezvous. Abigail’s only complaint was that it was cold, while Will sat twitching and barely containing his own slew of complaints the whole way. He bothered holding them in only because he didn’t want to panic Abigail with his pessimism; she was being incredibly brave in the face of things. They both knew Hannibal wouldn’t let anyone actually rape or kill her, but a knife in the gut had always been passable to the man, and that was bad enough. Still, Abigail obeyed reverently like always, making Will flush when Hannibal looked at him as though quietly desiring him to do the same—among other things. The power dynamics in their home was extremely topsy-turvy, and it gnawed Will with teeth of both anger, and lust. 

“Will, there is a warm bath and broth waiting at home. A little patience.”

Will mimed Hannibal fussily, making Abigail laugh as he helped her out of their cover in the trees and onto the gravel road. It wasn’t any firmer than the ground, an old back road that catered to heavier vehicles, forcing them to slow down for the next few miles.

“I can make it from here.” She said.

They both gave her shoes a dubious look.

“Let’s hope the worst thing to happen here is a sprained ankle.”

“For _us_...”

Will sighed loudly, and gave her a one-armed hug. He didn’t want her here, he didn’t want her _seeing_ what was going to happen. He didn’t want her seeing _him_ like that. It was enough that she’d sometimes wait up for them, catching eager glimpses of Will covered in blood and shaking from the kill, Hannibal scolding and ushering her into bed, not looking any better himself. 

She returned it and pushed him back the way they came. Will jogged back into the trees where Hannibal stood, nice and warm in his zipped up jacket. Will sighed again, and trudged up next to him. From here they could just see the road, their own car parked a few metres behind them, sneaked and hidden in the trees.

“...I can’t believe we’re setting Abigail up as bait.” Will lifted his shoulders sourly, burying his chin into the collar of his jacket, thinning his lips as he watched Abigail tip toe across the road. 

The heels weren’t famously high, more professional than anything, but Will didn’t imagine it was easy to parade in them outside the office. Of course, Abigail might’ve worn them better if they’d been hers to start with—the shoes had belonged to Bedelia. Will had found them a while back when they’d first moved into their new house, their hastily packed boxes revealing a few odd things. He had, of course, called out Hannibal on why he had them, but after the crooked smile he got from Hannibal and his roaming eyes, he threw them back and decided he didn’t care.

The moment, of course, remained an unspoken fly, one Hannibal was ever ready to chase around with no intentions of swatting, rather infuriating it until it buzzed itself sick. Sometimes the fly would prefer to be knocked down and given no choice, it took too much pride to give into the electric zapper.

“Well, I would’ve sent you out, but you still refuse to wear that garter I got for you. Getting you in that entire outfit would’ve been impossible. I’m a realistic man, Will.”

Will’s lip curled—he would’ve made _some_ kind of compromise if it would’ve saved Abigail from getting into that skimpy outfit. It almost killed Will buying it for her even though she’d chosen it, dedicated to her role. The lady at the cash register all but threw the change at him, and he didn’t blame her. He went home and threw it at Hannibal, Abigail taking suggestive Selfies in the background. 

“That was your whole debate on the topic?”

“You worry too much.”

“It’s never led me wrong, has it?”

Hannibal smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

They stood in silence for a while, watching Abigail idle a couple metres on the road side, nearer to the trees on her side. She was to pretend she was waiting for someone she knew. The idea was to lure a fish that thought he was the only someone she needed. 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” 

“I’ve done my research, Will.” 

Will waited as long as he could before he started shifting impatiently. 

“This could take hours.”

“Then let’s hope Abigail is dressed for the occasion.”

“That is incredibly sexist. And _rude_.”

“It’s not rude. It’s playing into the stereotype. Rude is attempting to rape a woman because you believe her clothes have taunted you. This is simply comeuppance. We’re not attacking Abigail, so why should they? Narrow minds are easy to steer.”

Will pulled a face. Sexual crimes had not been one of his favourite topics. “What is there to be gained raping a young woman? Raping anyone? Rape is about power and dominance. Superiority. You earn those things, not take them.”

“Beautiful feelings though, aren’t they?”

“Not at the expense of a little girl.” Will took an extra breath to calm the sizzling corners of his psyche, eyes on Abigail lest she vanish.

Still, the seeds had been sown and his palms were tingling, his feet fidgeting and his eyes darting. The thought of those feelings, coupled by the paternal flare clouding inside him made half as eager as usual, but twice as antsy. And possible quite grumpy, so he allowed Hannibal a tilt of his head in his direction. 

“Dangerous feelings.” He acknowledged.

Hannibal cupped the offered side of his face, forcing him to meet his steely gaze. 

“She will be fine, Will.”

It was dark, but never darker than Hannibal’s eyes. Will lost himself in their gaze for a moment, his shoulders dropping as they always did when Hannibal was besides him, a reliable mass he could use how and when he needed, that never seemed to wear away, not like Will.

“...I just don’t like this. If she gets hurt—”

Hannibal turned and pushed Will back into a tree before Will could stop him. He cupped both sides of his face, blocking out everything in the world that wasn’t Hannibal. It was far too easy, it always had been, and Will surrendered with a light flux of mild annoyance and delicate submission. Their hot breaths mixed in the cold air, visualizing in the small space between them as Hannibal pressed close, leaves crunching loudly at their feet.

“If she gets hurt, it will be minor, and I can take care of it. She’s not a child, Will. She hasn’t been for a long time. She’s a hunter too, you forget.” 

Will opened his mouth to argue, eyes zipping to try and spot Abigail, suddenly so far away, but Hannibal distracted him by thumbing down his face, leaning in and smelling along his jaw line. 

“The thought is void in any case, Will. You’d get there in time, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” Will got out, purely by the grace of some lonely dark angel, before Hannibal kissed him firmly, knocking his head back against the bark.

Hannibal’s mouth was warm compared to the air around them, and Will moved in closer to covet it, fingers finding their way into the nooks and pockets on Hannibal’s jacket.

Hannibal pulled away then, as if to spite him now that he’d won, and smiled smugly when Will grit his teeth and growled lazily. Will’s eyes were half-lidded, a most beautiful look on him no matter the emotion behind it. Tonight it was worry, and now lust. Hannibal looked forward to wrath.

“Because she is ours.” Hannibal said. Not quite a question, but not quite a statement either.

Will nodded, leaning his head back against the wood, neck appearing in invitation. “Yes.”

Hannibal leaned in and chased the cold away by kissing down the side of Will’s neck.

“Because you want to protect her from harm.”

“Yes...”

“Because you’re impatient to bury your knife in something. Something that deserves it...” Hannibal murmured in his ear, so commonplace it made Will’s entire body flare. Flare with the need and shame and thirst that Hannibal had cultivated in him since day one. A need and shame and thirst that Will had always had in him to begin with. 

“Hold it down. Wriggling.” Hannibal continued, bearing his weight down on Will to make him do just that as he licked his fluttering pulse point. “Watch it fight even when you know that they know it’s over. When they know that you know that they deserve it. That _you_ deserve it...”

Will groaned in the back of his throat, more so when Hannibal started enthusiastically nibbling on it. The broader man bit harder at the vibrations, twisting his gloved fingers in Will’s hair.

“H-Hannibal...” Will gasped, wincing at a particularly stinging pull that twisted his head aside, baring more of his neck.

“Good.” Hannibal whispered, kissing the exposed skin as he made his way back to claim Will’s mouth. “Very good...”

“Hannibal...” Will growled, twisting against the fingers and Hannibal’s lips to regain some control. But Hannibal was ever a force, making Will fight to get his space back around slick kisses, making him fight to resist, making him fight to escape—making him fight to prepare.

“You’re tense, my love.” Hannibal whispered against his cheek, chuckling as Will shoved against his chest with both hands. Hannibal pulled him with, then pulled again so that they toppled over onto the ground. 

Hannibal took the brunt of the fall with a needless groan, Will landing heavily on top of him. 

“Yeah, I wonder why.” Will groaned as he pushed himself up, old scars and wounds aching distantly beneath his skin. 

He lifted and shifted into the position Hannibal so obviously wanted: Will straddling him. He sat back with a sigh, gazing down as Hannibal idled his deft fingers up his thighs and settled them around his hips with a tight squeeze, a smug little smile on his face, so bright it shone through the darkness.

For a moment it caught Will, a stupid mistake considering who was beneath him, and he flushed hot from his cheeks to his groin, and then he was yanked down and over, landing on his back with a loud grunt. He thought it sounded rather obscene, until Hannibal grinned to prove it.

“Seems I don’t only make _you_ tense.” Hannibal said as he looked between them, for the show of it rather than sight. 

Will groaned, head tilted back as Hannibal rocked into him, lifting his legs back around his waist. It was slightly difficult with all their layers of clothes on, but Hannibal was never one to go without trying.

“Or rather, _stiff_.” 

“Yes, Hannibal, I get it.”

Will let his legs fall on purpose, arms splayed out limp as Hannibal loomed above him. He smirked as Hannibal stilled, robbed of the fight he so loved.

“Come now, Will.”

“Hannibal, get off. Abigail—”

“Hasn’t lost her voice.”

“You’re as stubborn as a mule—!”

“I really prefer stag—”

If Abigail wasn’t in the picture Will would’ve lain there longer until Hannibal either ravaged him or took him home to the promised bath and broth, or both. But she _was_ there, and Will knew every sick and demented thing a man could think coming across a lonely girl on a dark road. So he started shoving again, growling when Hannibal caught his hands at every turn. 

The harder he fought the more Hannibal blocked him, but Will eventually got a hand in one of Hannibal’s pockets. He pulled, about to use it as leverage to flip them back over, when he realised his fingers were curled around the handle of a familiar knife.

Will stilled, flushing hot again, but it wasn’t for the heat or hardness between them. His reaction halted Hannibal, who followed his gaze as Will pulled out the knife.

“...This is Abigail’s?”

“It is.”

Will looked back up at Hannibal, but it was too late. She was already screaming. 

“No!” Will choked, and used the strength summoned only by the subconscious to get Hannibal’s weight off of him. It seemed effortless this time, and he scrambled up in a panicked daze that hit him like cold wave. It got him to his feet and through the trees in a space of time he later would not recall, speeding mindlessly towards Abigail’s voice. 

He barely missed slamming into the side of a small parked truck, and rolled over the front to keep the momentum. But a split second before pushing off he grabbed onto the nearest perch and swung himself around the corner, stabbing the front left-side tyre. He got the corresponding tyre at the back in seconds, and then pushed off into the trees as the vehicle started hissing.

It was a little brighter this side due to the position of the moon, not that it would’ve been hard to find them—the men had barely taken her far. 

She was on her back, still fully clothed and kicking viciously at them, two attackers. Her tear-stained face did nothing but sate their depraved mocking, pulling at her just to let her go and watch her scramble back, spitting insults at her about _being a good girl_.

Will took a second’s solace knowing he’d indeed gotten there in time, before connecting with one of the men and sending them both crashing. Abigail screamed louder as they fell besides her, but Will trusted her to either kill the other or run back to Hannibal, and focused his pulsating need on the thrashing man beneath him. This wasn’t one of Hannibal’s leisurely hunts; this had to be won as soon as possible.

He swung his arm back with every intention of bringing the knife back down into his victim’s face, but the man got with the program and caught his arm, wrapping his other hand around Will’s throat.

To the side Abigail grunted, hitting the ground again from an audible punch as she tried to escape. Will jerked in her direction, but the man beneath him was larger than him, his hands monstrous and hardened from labour. He escaped only by being kicked off, landing at the mercy of the other man who kicked him in the face. Nothing snapped, but the distorted pieces of Will’s humanity.

“You bitch! Who’s this? Your father? Huh? Daddy finally decided to show up?” he asked as he looked down at Will, the first man getting up with a huff.

“What kinda father carries a hunting knife?” the first asked, kicking said knife away as Will reached for it, blinking to see passed his throbbing nose. “Doesn’t look like the hunting type.” If only they knew. Will cracked a smile into the dirt.

“Leave him alone!” Abigail shouted, struggling to get back onto her feet. The second man knocked her back down easily, snickering as he kicked at her feet, at least one heel broken in the scuffle. Will kept an inventory of it, and looked up into the faces of his prey.

There was nothing significant about them. He’d forget their faces by morning as Hannibal served up them up for breakfast—the only use of their lives. Will could appreciate that concept these days, these men made it difficult to argue against it. They were scum of the Earth. It didn’t take an empath like Will to figure it out. He could only imagine what their qualifications were for Hannibal to single them out.

“I almost feel sorry for you, man.” The first man said, hands interlocked in front of him as he and his partner leered down at Will. “You’re new around here, I can tell. But any sorry prick knows not to let their daughters out dressed like...well…she’s pretty enough to gun for it anyway.”

The men laughed to each other, shaking their heads like Will was the one at the end of his rope. Then the second man cried out and fell forward as Abigail kicked in the back of his knees. Will took the opening. 

He scuttled for the knife, the second man diving after him. But that was okay, he got it first, and buried it in the fallen man’s thigh. He grinned, not at the man’s scream, but at the absolute surety of what was to follow. 

The first man grabbed hold of him and, as expected, pulled as hard as he could. Will allowed it, his grip tight on the knife, and listened as they sliced open the thigh together, the stab wound became a gorgeous guzzling gash.

The man hollered, his broken voice echoing through the quiet trees. Blood splashed Will in the face, and he pushed to his feet as the first man faltered and stood above his friend.

“What the fuck!” he shouted, twitching between kneeling and gunning for Will. 

Will wiped his face with the back of his hand, the blood in his veins burning like lava, his breath hot and burning his throat. There was a pleasant simmering coiling in his gut as he too watched the man bleed out profusely. He let it wash over him like a baptism, converting him if only for the moment.

Then Abigail tried to sneak past, but the upright man was now livid, and he grabbed her. She shrieked, and Will skidded forward with his knife clenched tightly.

“Let her go!” 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” The man hissed, eyes crazed, but he was too focused on Will to see the bite coming. Abigail tore a chunk from his wrist when struggling proved futile. He roared and shoved her down into the ground, falling to one knee himself so that Will was standing above them all.

Suddenly the second man sprung back into action, grabbing Abigail by the hair and producing a gun from the dark folds of his clothes. Instead of aiming it at Abigail like he should have—it would’ve stopped Will in his tracks—he aimed it at Will with a hand shaking from blood loss, sneering and spitting incoherently.

“Will!” Abigail screamed herself hoarse, twisting back to wrestle the gun from his hands. Will’s paternal instincts flared and he felt sick for a moment, before the world swirled and he jerked into motion.

Just as the first man got back to his feet, cradling his wrist, Will flung the knife at him, catching him in the stomach and sending him straight back to his knees. It was far from a fatal wound, but it bought Will time to dart forward and rip out the knife, clamour over Abigail and pull the gun from the other man’s hand. 

Will shoved Abigail aside as far from them as he could, teeth clenched too tightly to apologise before he held the bleeding bastard by the neck and finally brought down the knife repeatedly, inhaling deeply with a heavy sense of satisfaction as he tore the life from the man beneath him. The sounds were sharp and wet and choked, sweet syrup to quench his dry thirst.

The man was dead before he stopped, at least a dozen oozing wounds to his chest. Will wondered belatedly if he was a smoker, and if his lungs would still be any good to Hannibal.

There was blood everywhere. Will couldn’t smell anything but copper, every breath coating his tongue to the last bud.

“No!”

Will turned too late—he was slow tonight, maybe it was the cold—Abigail moved first. She tried to protect him, scrambling up foolishly to attack their last victim as he lunged for Will. She stopped him, but he was bigger than even Will, and he tossed her down into the ground with a savage growl. She landed heavily on her back and cried out, reaching back to clutch at her head, her chin covered in black.

“You fucker!” the man roared at Will, before tackling him down into the ground. 

The gun fell from Will’s hand and clattered beside them, but that wasn’t how Will wanted to kill them. They didn’t deserve such a swift death, and it seemed the man thought the same about him as he tried to pry the knife from Will’s hand. It became a vicious fight, and Will received a cut across the face in the scuffle, followed by a solid punch that must have dislodged at least one tooth.

“Get off him!” Abigail shouted as she jumped on the man’s back, so far from being simple bait that it made Will’s blood pressure soar. He screamed in frustration as they fought him, Abigail’s weight making it harder for Will to get the upper hand. 

He started to panic, spitting blood as the man leaned over him with a single-minded focus on sticking the knife in his neck, his eyes telling too many stories of valuable nostalgia. 

The weight was becoming too much, Will was seconds away from praying for his husband’s appearance when the man finally moved to shrug Abigail off, giving Will space to breathe, and act. The relief was short lived as the man swung his fist and knocked Abigail’s onto her back, the hit loud and making Will’s skin prickle cold.

His hand with the knife in it was restrained, so Will grabbed it with his free hand just as the man pulled his fist back with every clear intention of striking Will across the face. Will buried the knife in his shoulder, but he got the punch anyway, and this time the man didn’t stop. He screamed, but instead of removing the knife he wound his substantial hands around Will’s neck and squeezed.

“You think you’re a hero?! Well you’re a dead hero now, you bastard! See your little girl? I’m going to do her right here, and you’re going to watch, and then I’m going to kill you, and make her dig your grave. Then I’ll leave her to it. I was never much of a cuddler.”

“No...” Will choked, smiling a bloody smile as a shadow enveloped them. “But I am.”

The man had a moment to frown and look over his shoulder, and then Hannibal grabbed him. A hand in his hair and the other around his throat, Hannibal tore the man off of Will and held him down to his knees, secure and fighting for breath and footing.

“Pretty words, but you’re a coward.” Hannibal dismissed, glancing up to watch Will climb to his feet, spitting blood. “You’ve caused quite a bit of harm to my family. What is to be done about that?”

“Your family?” The man choked, mottled eyes darting between Will and Abigail. “Y-You—f-fucking—”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Hannibal silenced him by tightening his grip, and tilted his head ever so casually at Will. “Will?”

Will panted angrily, indecisive of which man to glare harder at. He bent to pick up the gun on the off case the man got free for a second, and irritably turned the weapons around in his hands.

“I have a...very...specific... _image_...in my head. For these two. But I’m honestly too angry to keep from shredding them into nothing.”

Hannibal hummed appreciatively, glancing at the dead man, and leaned into his captive’s ear. “Prettier words, I think.”

“Y-You fuckers k-killed—”

“Shut up.” Will snapped, giving Hannibal a second to read him before swinging his leg. Hannibal released and shoved the man forward so his head connected with Will’s boot, and ducked to the side just in time to escape its path.

The snap of the man’s spine was loud and sickening, if it were a shame, which it wasn’t. The body dropped, lifeless, and Will stood breathing loudly above both of them.

When deemed safe Hannibal turned his face back slowly, a certain implied submission in it that never failed to frustrate Will because he knew it was manipulation and yet it still worked to fend off turning his aggression on Hannibal.

Will tossed the gun at Hannibal’s face, clenching his teeth when Hannibal caught it, and turned to help Abigail up.

“Easy...”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re going to bruise...”

“I’ve had worse.”

Hannibal moved around them, assessing the bodies as he always did after a kill he didn’t commit. He just liked to see Will’s handy work, and Will knew he didn’t exhibit enough of for Hannibal’s taste. He hoped tonight lasted long enough for Hannibal, because it didn’t feel enough for him, and that was far more worrisome.

“I’m fine.” Abigail insisted, eyeing the cut on Will’s cheek. “You’re the one who’s hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He mirrored, giving Hannibal a warning glower as he came to join their circle.

“You told them you were waiting for your father?” Hannibal frowned at Abigail, patting her mussed hair down.

Abigail shrugged, rubbing at her chilly arms now that the adrenaline was slowing down. “Don’t men love girls with dad issues?” she said as he kicked off her remaining shoe.

Hannibal smiled, proud as a peacock, and kissed her bruised cheek. “Good girl.” He shrugged off his jacket, and put it on Abigail, patting the pocket with her knife and the keys in it. “Go wait in the car.”

Abigail smiled, near disappearing in the material, and gave Will a half hug as she passed, as though to calm him. He smiled tensely, for her sake, and waited until she was gone before swinging his fist at Hannibal’s face.

He got the first shot, but Hannibal caught the second, and Will tried for a third because the first just didn’t seem to have landed just right. He growled loudly, frustrated and still thirsty, and found himself quickly contained by Hannibal’s strong arms. He lifted and kicked his legs but Hannibal kept his ground, holding him too close to strike.

“Dammit, let go of me!” Will shouted, stepping on the bodies as they struggled.

“The hunt is over, Will. Time to bask.”

“I thought we were _fishing_. Let— _go_ —!”

“And we caught sharks. That requires a bit of hunting. Give and take.”

“If you don’t let me go I will _hurt_ you, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal smiled, and rubbed his nose in Will’s hair to scent him in his rage.

“Oh, Will.”

Will threw his head back, earning his freedom and a grunt from Hannibal. It wasn’t quite the pained one he vied for, but it was enough as he turned and tackled Hannibal to the ground. Blood trickled from Hannibal’s nose, his lips parted in surprise, his hair askew, and for the second time that night he rendered Will vulnerable with only his image. It was the hair this time, dusted pink with blood from the last victim’s struggling and strewn over his forehead, debauch in ways only gifted to Will, like everything else in their life.

Hannibal took advantage, and grabbed a handful of Will’s hair. He pulled Will off and shoved him face-first into the ground, rolling over on top of him before he could even think of escaping and bit down on the back of his neck. The smell of blood and violence wafted beautifully through the crisp night air, making Hannibal shiver knowing who had created that. He ground his hips down into said man, linking his fingers over Will’s so he couldn’t find purchase anywhere but on Hannibal.

“H-Hannibal—dammit!” Will gasped, squirming futilely as Hannibal bit harder in warning. They’d done this enough times for Will to know when he was beat, and he gave in with a last angry jerk.

They breathed heavily for a few moments, accessing each other’s every minute moment until Hannibal declared Will calm enough, and released his neck with a warm lick to the indents.

“Sh-she could have died...” Will rasped, dropping his head to the hard, cold ground.

Hannibal sighed, and kissed his bleeding cheek. “You still have an alarming amount of distrust in me. You seem to forget I am well skilled at handling set ups.”

Will closed his eyes and sighed. “...It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s people. Don’t underestimate people.”

“I don’t. But you underestimated Abigail, and look how well she did.”

“And that’s another thing—”

Hannibal sighed loudly, and planted another equally as loud kiss at the back of Will’s ear. “We’ll fight at home. We’ll fuck here.”

“Oh God...” Will turned his face into the ground, his body apparently more than welcoming to the return of fire in the blood.

“Fuck now. Feast later.”

“ _God_...” Will groaned, shaking his head and crushing his forehead into the sand as Hannibal made quick work of undoing his pants for him and tugging them down his hips. Hannibal rarely swore, he rarely needed to, and Will suspected he did it just to make him blush and stutter. 

“Call Him a third time and He may just appear.” Hannibal quipped, yanking until the jeans were around Will’s knees and he was fighting to lift his skin away from the cold ground. Hannibal held him up, kneeling on either side of Will’s conveniently bound legs as he held him around the waist, backside beautifully presented.

“Shut up...” Was all Will could offer in response, trying to find a comfortable position before Hannibal stuck him. As expected he didn’t have long, Hannibal’s long nimble fingers had his own pants open and cock out with one hand as he held a substantial amount of Will’s weight with the other. And as always it burned Will hot to his core, and he lowered his head back down with a groan of submission to the place Hannibal earned—unlike the pigs lying slaughtered besides them.

“Something funny?” Hannibal asked, and Will realised his snort had been audible.

“No. Just thinking of dinner.”

“My, my, what have I created...”

“I’d show you if you let me up.”

Hannibal grinned, and pushed Will’s layers of clothing up to his shoulders to place a kiss on the warm small of his back before drawing his hands back to cup his cheeks and spread them just enough to find his mark and push in.

Will winced and arched, already struggling to keep his balance. Hannibal pushed down on the small of his back and held him properly positioned as he thrust in small bursts, a little deeper every time until he was buried against the plush firmness of Will’s backside.

They groaned together, the air around them cold once more and steaming as they breathed. Hannibal turned his head back, eyes closed in bliss as Will clenched around him, warm and slick and prepared just enough to take him. They always prepared Will before hand when hunting; they’d learnt quickly just how arousing it was taking down their victim together. And while it was all fierce and needy in the moment, Will hadn’t been happy about the pain he’d wake up with the next morning.

Like this Will was slick inside and his muscles still pliable enough to yield to the overwhelming post-murder endorphins. Will could block out the lingering pain like he could with present reality, and Hannibal could rut him like a beast in the pools of blood and flesh strewn around them.

Will started making a high-pitched sound, so beautifully unique that Hannibal knew he was the only one to ever hear it. It only ever surfaced when he was fucking the breath out of Will after a kill, as if to heighten how alive, how incandescent they were in comparison to the world around them, bouncing Will’s ass back against his solid hips with a rhythmic _slap slap slap_. 

It was a fevered sound, not unlike an animal in heat, a sound Will would never admit to despite how he pushed back, back and shoulders undulating in a practiced dance he shared only with his husband. His submission was only for his husband, and Hannibal made sure to savour it every chance he got, and honour it by making sure Will enjoyed it more than enough to surrender to him again, and again, and again. Hannibal was many heinous things, but he was not a rapist, just as he found distaste in animal cruelty.

“F-f-fuck...” Will gasped, head snapping back as it always did when Hannibal caught his prostate. Hannibal avoided it each time until the very last moments, and wound a hand in Will’s hair as he leaned over and ground deep, inhaling everything Will had to offer.

“Will...” he whispered, and Will keened back, up on his shaking arms as he tried to turn his head and open his red mouth for a kiss.

It was too exquisite to deny. Hannibal kissed him wetly, sucking his blood-coated lips and fucking him forward and down until the kiss broke off and Will’s chest hit the ground. Will lost his lungful of air in a sharp gust, puffing dirt and sand. 

Usually they adopted a better position, but Hannibal bit into the fabric of Will’s jacket and made do as he leaned his palms on either side of Wills shoulders and slammed against him to hurry it along. It was indeed cold, he had bodies to dissect and dispose of and a daughter and husband to take home and tend to, make warm and feed.

“Cum, Will.” Hannibal breathed against his back, turning his face so his voice could be heard over the crinkling of their clothing, and the sounds escaping Will’s mouth. “Cum with me.”

Will didn’t bother asking him for a hand, he rarely did after their hunts. At home he was far more placid and greedy, needlessly goading Hannibal whenever they had sex into servicing him like it was paid for, lying back with that cheeky little grin as Hannibal did all the work. But out here, out here where Will was shivering with pent up bloodlust and wrath like acid in his veins, Will was far more hands on. Were the night not so cold and Abigail still at home Will would’ve been painting Hannibal’s chest red, scratching welts down his back and pulling his hair, biting his throat and jerking himself as his true nature consumed him, bled out through his every thought and action like their many victims.

All Will could do tonight was grab his cock and tug, the other arm beneath his forehead as he made noises into the ground. Hannibal had him locked down, there was no room to move as he wanted, _needed_ , so he relented beautifully, crying out as he pumped his clenched fist over his straining, leaking member. Hannibal drove into him viciously with each inward pull, battering his prostate with precision and without mercy until Will’s already struggling vision clouded into black, knees aching as Hannibal rocked him into oblivion. 

“H-Hannibal—” Will exhaled, pushing back one last time as hard as he could, every nerve and muscle coiling. Hannibal, always so intimately attuned to him, thrust forward in kind, lodging himself to the hilt, and reached beneath them at the last moment to cover and wring the remaining tip of Will’s cock.

Will screamed as he climaxed. The sound didn’t carry, broken with ecstasy and muffled beneath them both. He went rigid, spilling and pulsing copiously in Hannibal’s fist as he squeezed around him. Unlike other nights, able to hold off as Will’s body contracted, Hannibal came almost immediately after. Will was a sight in his post-orgasmic state, more so to fuck and torment just a bit longer to have that breathless sensitive creature writhe beneath him. 

This wasn’t one of those nights, certainly not with Abigail waiting in the car and Will harbouring a few bones to pick with him. Hannibal knew when to back off for one’s benefit.

He buried his face into Will’s back and released quietly, stealing a few more thrusts as he did.

They knelt for a short, cluttered moment after that, breathing heavily and shifting minutely. Hannibal moved first, pushing upright with a groan and fishing a handkerchief out of a pocket to wipe his hand with. He smelt his hand afterwards, taking in Will’s fresh scent with a contented smile, and placed a calming hand on the small of Will’s back as he eased himself out.

Hannibal, as Will so gracelessly phrased once, came like a horse. Semen was not one of the things Hannibal felt comfortable with leaving behind on their usual crime scenes, even though Jack would know their work the second he saw it. He got used to carrying a handkerchief, and gave his cock a quick wipe before lodging it against Will’s leaking hole and tugging his pants back up.

Will looked back, eyes almost squint, face and hair a mess. “Did you just—” 

“There’s no time to eat it out of you, and I just replaced the car seats—”

“My _God_!” Will shoved Hannibal in the chest and scrambled up, nearly tripping once as he knees shook.

Hannibal got to his feet and tucked himself away too, eyes twinkling mirth as Will had a second’s debate on whether to remove the material or not. He eventually decided against it with a wriggle and look that promised a longer bicker at home, and buckled his pants.

Hannibal took a wide step and wound an arm around Will, giving the meat below them a glance as he guided him off. “Come, go rest in the car. I won’t be long.”

Will leaned into him with a fucked-out groan, followed by a grouchy sigh, then stopped to lean over besides one of the corpses, nearly tipping Hannibal over as he used him as a clutch.

“Wait.”

Will picked up the broken heel of Abigail’s shoe, and passed it to Hannibal.

“Good eyes.” Hannibal praised.

“It broke off earlier. There’s the other one. Bedelia is definitely never getting these back.”

Hannibal picked up the other shoe and looked at the pieces. “Why not?”

“Because you’re going to shove it up their asses. Don’t take long.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fandoms are not good when you have real life to attend to.


End file.
